It started like any number of other Friday nights: I’d read an excellent, favourable review of a movie I’d been looking forward to for some time (in this case Hell Or High Water); I picked out one of the four or five acceptable cinemas in London and I went there, bought a ticket and a beer, and then I sat down in the same seat I always sit in (3rd row, slightly to the left), ready to enjoy the shit out of a grizzled Jeff Bridges prowling across some vast Texan vistas. And I was ready and willing to enjoy this in spite of Chris Pine.

But then something happened. Something strange and aberrant and a little bit frightening.